Title: Seize the Day
Author: podga
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Nick Stokes
Rating: PG-13
Warning: None
Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me and I don't make money off of them
Summary: Nick isn't living up to his own expectations.

It's hot, the sun beating down relentlessly, so why is he shivering? His shirt is cold and clammy against his skin, chafing him under the vest. He tries to swallow, but he can't seem to put enough spit together.

Eighty feet down, he hears one of the uniforms tell another. No A/C. He'll just look in; nobody can make him go down there, he'll just look in. But it still takes a while before he can get himself to move towards the gaping door, the darkness beyond. There's a smell: humid, musty, with a sickly-sweet overtone of already putrefying flesh that he can taste at the back of his throat. Switch with Greg. No, go forward. This is what you do. You either beat it or you go home.

How many more stairs? His thighs are burning. He hears somebody panting over the clanging of his boots on the steps and for a second he thinks it's the cop coming up the stairs. Then he realizes it's himself. Just keep on going, the cop tells him pointing downwards, so he does, trying to steady his breath.

He finally reaches bottom and finds himself in a large hallway; the smell is stronger here, mixed with vomit and sour sweat. He still can't control his breathing. A gurney squeaks by and he instinctively looks at the covered body on it, but he's distracted by the flickering lights. His heart kicks in his chest at the thought of being in the dark. He needs to sit down, but the familiar sound of a camera whirring lures him forward. He takes in the bodies on the beds and suddenly it's OK. Well, not OK, not with what's around him, but he can do his job. As he bends to pick up an empty water bottle at the foot of one of the beds, he quickly looks around. If Gil's down here, he must be in another room. Nick's disappointed. He's also relieved.

The silences between them are no longer comfortable. Nick remembers when they could spend a whole evening together and not talk to each other. Now one or the other always breaks the silence. This time it's Gil.

"Catherine told me off today."

Nick smirks. "What did you do this time?"

"I wasn't carrying my gun." Gil smiles as he responds, as if he finds it amusing that people are on his case about the gun.

"Well, she's right, you should." Nick tries to keep his tone light, fights the prickle of irritation that's becoming his usual reaction to pretty much anything Gil says. Gil makes a dismissive gesture that sets Nick's teeth on edge. "But God forbid you should actually listen to anybody," he snaps.

Gil stares at Nick, his eyebrows furrowing. Nick tries to meet the stare and not back down, because he's right goddamnit, Gil should carry a gun and he never listens.

"CSIs get killed all the time. Hell, you almost got killed. Remember Syd Goggle?"

"I remember. Nick..."

"And Amy Hendler? Remember her?" Nick interrupts, his voice climbing a notch.

"Of course I do. Nick..." Gil tries again.

"Then I don't understand you. If you don't think of yourself, at least think of the others around you," Nick interrupts again, leaning forward, his fists clenched on his knees. Gil doesn't respond and, as always, Nick's anger starts to drain away, a sense of shame at his behavior taking its place. He looks down at his hands and self-consciously relaxes his fingers. When he looks up, Gil is still staring at him. Nick recognizes the expression; working alongside Gil, he's seen it often enough. It's the look Gil wears when he's trying figure out a particularly puzzling piece of evidence.

What was he thinking of, two weeks ago? He's not ready for this. He thought he was, but he isn't. None of how he feels is Gil's fault and it was his own choice to go back to Gil, so he can't walk away. He needs to stick with it. Hell, he wants to stick with it. He just needs to push through, like he does at work. Get back to normal. Only problem is, at work he knows what's wrong, what still scares him, what makes him angry. With Gil, he has no idea.

The venetian blinds clatter a bit as a warm breeze blows in through the open window. He's lounging on the couch, his hand loosely wrapped around a beer bottle that's wet with condensation. He's idly pressing its bottom against his faded jeans and watching dark rings form on the denim, feeling the slight moisture on his thigh.

"Another beer?" Gil asks him.

"No, I'm good."

He watches Gil as he walks into the kitchen and then as he comes out again, a fresh beer in his hand. Gil hesitates for a second, flicking a glance towards the armchair, then he walks over to the couch and sits down next to Nick, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.

Even though they're not touching, they're close enough that Nick feels the warmth of Gil's thigh alongside his. He stares at Gil's back, the sliver of sunburnt skin over Gil's collar and something, an emotion he can't name, makes his throat ache. He slowly moves his free hand from the back of the couch and lays it on Gil's back, his fingertips resting against the warm skin on Gil's nape. Gil doesn't move and Nick moves his fingers upwards, through Gil's hair, watching the curls spring back into place after his fingers pass through. Then he folds his hand under Gil's collar, feeling Gil's smooth skin against the back of his fingers. There's nothing else in the world, just Gil, silent and still and waiting. Nick hesitates, not really sure he wants to take things further, but it's the first time he's touched Gil in a long time and it doesn't feel right to just stop.

He leans forward and set his bottle on the floor. He almost has to tug Gil's bottle out of his grasp, then he sets that on the floor as well. He scoots closer to Gil, one hand still on Gil's back, the other coming forward to cup Gil's chin, turn his face towards him. But Gil is stiff and unyielding, so Nick kisses him on the corner of his mouth.

"Gil," he whispers, but then he feels Gil's hand close tightly around his wrist, the grip so hard it hurts.

"Stop it!" Gil's voice is rough, angry.

"What's wrong?" Nick asks, automatically standing up as Gil does so. He's off balance, can't adjust to the sudden change in mood. Gil has never rejected him like this before.

"This is wrong." Gil's gesture encompasses the whole room. "We're wrong."

It's not the regret that Nick hears in Gil's voice that makes his heart kick in panic, but the finality. Gil sounds as if he's given up on them. On him. He sinks back on the couch. It occurs to him that maybe he should offer some protest, but suddenly he doesn't have the energy.

Gil is still standing, his hands in his pockets. He slowly walks towards the window, pushes the blinds a bit to the side and looks out. He mutters something, but he's turned away and Nick doesn't hear him clearly.

"What?"

Gil looks at him but doesn't move away from the window. "I wish I knew what to do," he repeats slowly, his tone flat.

Nick thinks about it for a while. "Gil, I'm trying."

"I can see you're trying, Nick. That's the point. Why are you always trying so hard?"

"Because I want to be with you." Even as he's saying it, Gil is shaking his head.

"No. That's not what I mean."

"Then what?" Nick challenges.

Gil just shakes his head again and turns back to the window.

"What's out there?"

"Shooting stars. But you can't see them from here," Gil answers.

Nick examines his hands, feeling for the small scars that some of the bites left.

"Ever since..." he starts, but he can't finish the phrase. He takes a swig of his now lukewarm beer and tries again.

"I haven't been quite right. I got out of the hospital thinking that I would seize the day, not let opportunities pass me by. Life is short, you know?" he laughs, looking up at Gil. Gil gives a slight smile in return, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"But I haven't been doing that. At first it was an effort even getting dressed in the morning. And then the opportunities aren't that clear. You'd think I'd know what I want these days, but I don't, not any more than I did before."

"It didn't seem to me like you didn't know," Gil says mildly.

Nick clears his throat. "Maybe. But what I wanted was pretty ordinary. I should have wanted more." He waits for a response from Gil, but Gil is just looking at him, his eyes serious.

"And instead of seizing the day, I'm just second-guessing myself. Is my behaviour appropriate? Can I go down a dark shaft? Am I convincing Warrick not to blame himself for a stupid coin flip? Nothing seems to come naturally anymore. Not the smallest thing. Seize the day? What a joke."

He stands up and walks towards the bookshelves. He pushes and pulls the books slightly until their spines form a straight line, then runs his finger through the faint lines of dust on the shelf. He turns back towards Gil.

"I want to be with you, Gil. I love you. But when we're together... "

He pauses, not knowing how to continue. Looking at Gil, seeing his mouth pulling down at the corners and his jaw clenching, is too painful, so he looks at the wall instead.

"When we're together, it feels wrong. I don't know why. And I can't fix it."

"Do I disappoint you, Nick?"

"What? No, of course not! Gil, I'm trying to explain..."

"You don't disappoint me either," Gil interrupts deliberately. "You never have, not in any way that counts."

Nick doesn't know how Gil's statement fits into the conversation, even if he did believe it.

"So stop trying to fix things. Stop trying to do what you think I want or what you think you should want. Stop making yourself accountable for what others think or feel." Gil pushes himself off the wall he's been leaning against and comes to stand right in front of Nick. "You don't have to prove anything to anybody. You didn't before and you certainly don't have to now."

Nick is shaking his head. "Gil, I..." but Gil reaches up both hands and cups Nick head, holding it still.

"Relax, Nick. Isn't it time to relax?"

Nick stands still, the warmth of Gil's palms against the sides of his face. He hears the sound of quick, harsh breathing and he realizes it's his own, so he tries to control it. He stares into Gil's blue eyes and, almost unconsciously, raises his hand to Gil's cheek, tracing Gil's lips with his thumb. He's surprised at how soft Gil's lips feel; it's been so long, he'd almost forgotten.

Gil drops his hands and steps back, out of Nick's reach, but he doesn't break eye contact. "Don't," Gil says quietly, and this time around Nick understands enough not to feel rejected or to ask what's wrong, so he simply nods and backs away himself.

Gil looks at this watch. "We should start getting ready for work."

Nick checks his own watch and realizes that Gil is hinting he should leave a good 45 minutes before he actually needs to do so. He's relieved, because it's a graceful way out of a situation where he's run out of both words and actions. He's also disappointed, because he doesn't want to leave Gil like that, with everything between them unresolved.

At the door he turns around and looks back at Gil, searching for something to say, a promise, a declaration, something that will lead them together. In the end he just says what he's said thousands of times before:

"See you later, Gil."

And despite its ordinariness, he realizes that it's a phrase he wants to keep on exchanging with Gil, maybe for the rest of his life. It's nothing big. But in its own way, it is seizing the day.